


Io Sono Prigioniera

by MemoryDragon



Series: Broken Reality [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: AU, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Much more consensual, Nothing the Doctor can't handle, So she gives him only cricket outfits to wear, The Master gets a little violent, The TARDIS doesn't like the Master, These two still aren't very nice to each other, but thankfully not as bad as the first fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-07
Updated: 2011-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-17 04:29:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemoryDragon/pseuds/MemoryDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Still trapped on the Doctor's TARDIS, the Master tries to escape his bonds.  However, certain things are impossible to escape.  Sequel to Broken Reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Io Sono Prigioniera

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own Doctor Who, nor do I make any claim to.  
>  **Warnings:** NC17 for explicit sex. Also, the Master gets a little violent in the beginning bits, but it doesn't stay that way for long, I promise. I'd recommend reading the original fic first though, if this one is to make any sense, and that one does have dub-consent warnings on it, so keep that in mind. This fic also deals with that dubious consent sex scene and the Master's reactions to it, so keep that in mind as well.  
>  **Author's Thanks:** Many thanks to narwhale_callin for betaing this one and reassuring me that the sex scene should stay. I wanted to cut it entirely because I couldn't tell if it was tedious for everyone as it was for me, but she told me it was good and to keep it. So you have her to thank for it staying in. Also, she eats my unnecessary words. It's very violent, but oddly enjoyable to watch.  
>  **Notes:** This only got through about half of the original plot I had planned for the sequel. Which ultimately means there's room to make this into a trilogy, but I wouldn't count on it. For one, I've got several other projects lined up. Also, since I can't seem to shy away from sex scenes in this series, I might avoid it just for that. However, where there's plot, there a way, so I won't say it's impossible. Just highly unlikely at the moment. I wouldn't get your hopes up, basically. Also, it's a complete fic on its own, never fear.
> 
>  **Originally Posted:** Jun. 7th, 2011

The TARDIS was surprisingly willing to let the Master hide away. He wanted to believe it was because she hadn't minded what he'd done to her, but in reality he knew it was a combination of pity and the Doctor asking her to look after him. He didn't like being pitied, because that meant there was something pitiful about him. He was the Master, not some child screaming in the dark about drums only he heard. He most certainly didn't need pity despite what had... despite the humiliation he'd suffered.

He'd limped out of the med lab while the Doctor had been sleeping, not bothering to gather his clothes. The Master had simply needed to get out of that room, away from the Doctor and those damned apologetic eyes even if they were closed in sleep, so he left his suit behind and found something in the wardrobe. Just a white button-up shirt that was a bit too big on him and some trousers that were a little too long, but it was the best he could find that wouldn't upset his sense of style. He suspected it was the TARDIS' form of revenge, making it easier for him to trip over the long fabric when it already hurt so much for him to walk. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined sex with the Doctor would be this painful for _him_ afterward, both physically and mentally. There were a lot of things he hadn't imagined...

The Master found he couldn't bear the thought of a tie, not with the slave collar still reminding him of his imprisonment. It was sickening to have that around his neck and he couldn't force himself to put anything else around it, even if it might cover up the offensive object. He also decided to forgo shoes because he didn't want to bother with them; he took a pair of socks though, in case his feet got cold.

Clothes taken care of, he nicked a few sandwiches from a nearby kitchen and searched for a good place to disappear to. When it was obvious that he'd reached a part of the TARDIS that hadn't been used for centuries, the Master slowed and started looking around for a suitable place. He ignored the bedroom that was conspicuously close by, no doubt at the behest of the Doctor who was probably awake by now. Instead, he found a storage area of antiques and knickknacks that the Doctor had picked up during his... The Master was fairly sure it was his third regeneration, due to the lava lamps and door beads. The prospect of staying in a place that was obviously _Doctor_ in any regeneration wasn't a pleasing prospect, so he moved on until he found a storage room of vases and silverware. He could to break those once he was feeling better, and that was a nice thought.

After checking to make sure there were no cameras that could be used to spy on him, the Master curled up behind one of the bigger boxes and tried not to think about how light-headed he was or how much his shoulder hurt. He definitely wasn't going to think of how much he hurt where the Doctor had fucked him, nor how he'd _begged_ to be hurt more. He quickly lowered his hand as it went up to touch the place on his neck where the Doctor had bit him, decidedly not wanting to think about how much he'd liked that either. Laying on his side, the Master eventually fell asleep.

He woke up sobbing from a dream of having the Doctor inside him again. A nightmare more than a dream, for the complete lack of control over his own body and mind. It wasn't a memory of what had happened though, because _the Doctor_ had begged and pleaded, telling him all the while how the Master was the center of his universe and how sorry he was for not realizing this sooner... and that was what woke him up, crying miserably as he ignored his erection. Since there was no one here to see him, the Master let the tears come, crying himself out against the cold floor.

The Master stayed like that for a while, even after the tears had stopped. An hour later, he forced his abused body to get off the floor so he could find a shower. He let it run cold for five minutes before his shoulder's protests grew too loud to ignore and he turned it back to hot water to ease his weary muscles. It was then he noticed the marks along his inner thighs... Bastard must have made them while he'd been stretching the Master open. And what did it say about the Master that he'd been so lost to pleasure that he hadn't noticed? He was already half hard again just _looking_ at the bite marks. Again, he ignored his cock, refusing to admit he wanted more. 

After the shower, the Master found fresh clothes in a nearer, but smaller wardrobe. It was just as ill-fitting as the last set, but he didn't care at this point. He wasn't exactly planning on seeing anyone, and he'd much rather have the TARDIS' animosity than the Doctor's pity. 

There was a pantry off to the side that was new, which meant the Doctor had been tampering with the TARDIS rooms again. The Master was tempted to ignore it, but he was hungry and there was no point in neglecting sustenance. If he was going to escape, the Master needed to keep his strength up. So he picked out a small lunch for himself, ignoring the chocolate-covered strawberries that he knew the Doctor had put there because they were his favorite. It was an obvious attempt to apologize and make the Master feel better, but he wasn't going to accept it. 

Limping back into the storage room, the Master curled back into his miserable ball of Not Thinking About It. Unfortunately, it ended up being hard _not_ to think about what happened and the drums were almost deafening in the silence by himself. The sickest part of all was how much he wanted and _yearned_ for it to happen again.

The next day went pretty much like the last one, though he did throw up in the bathroom when his stomach had worked itself into too many knots. The days ran together after that, the Master falling into a solitary pattern, never once seeing the Doctor. He knew the Doctor had been out and about due to the unmistakable feel of the TARDIS taking off and landing, but the Doctor had never sought the Master out. He just went back to his life as usual from before the Master had been forced into captivity. Aside from the TARDIS' automatic renewal of food and clothes, he'd been completely forgotten, as if their intimate encounter had never happened.

He really shouldn't have been so surprised.

The Master spent three weeks like that, waiting for the Doctor to seek him out. The Doctor, of course, never did, and at the end of those three weeks the Master couldn't take it anymore. He waited until he was sure the Doctor had left the TARDIS and tried to sneak out.

It ended in failure, since the moment he tried to touch the door or the console he was knocked out for about five minutes. He woke with a splitting headache that was worse than any hangover or migraine he'd ever had. The Master retreated to his hiding place, nursing his head. Attempts to disable the collar only resulted in more of the same shocks, and by the time he stopped trying, the drums were so loud he could barely think as the tears came unbidden to his eyes.

He didn't try again until two days later, when the drums had receded to a more manageable level. The Master didn't even try to keep food down in that time, but he ate two pieces of bread before creeping back into the main section of the TARDIS once he was sure the Doctor was gone. For a few moments, he stood in the console room, uncertain of what to do. The Doctor still hadn't come to check on him, not even to say hello...

It was certain that he was never going to escape on his own, which meant... Which meant playing nice, doing what the Doctor said, and waiting for his chance to escape while the Doctor was lulled by his good behavior. That would take a long time, though... provided the Doctor even noticed he was there.

Well, if the Doctor could break free after a year when the Master had been certain the other Time Lord was defeated, so could he. Giving up wasn't in his nature, and the alternative was altogether too terrifying for him to contemplate. He could do this, he really could, and then he'd prove to the Doctor who the true Master was.

His mouth set in a grim line, the resigned Master made his way to the Doctor's room. He had a plan now (more or less), and it made for a very good excuse... It wasn't like he had to be completely miserable like the Doctor had made himself during the Year That Never Was, now did he? And if he... let the Doctor do it again, that was all part of the plan to throw the Doctor off and let him think the Master was playing along. When he was free, he would get revenge and the Doctor would be the one limping away from the encounter, simple as that. It was okay to want the Doctor for now, at least, or so he told himself.

He paused at the dresser, grabbing the lube he found in one of the drawers and undressing himself. The Doctor kept his room bloody cold though, so once he was naked, the Master slipped under the covers of the Doctor's bed. Maybe that was worth looking into later. His earlier experiments on escape proved the TARDIS didn't respond to him even if he managed to touch her, but if he could rewire the heating and turn the Doctor's room into a sauna, it might be worth the shocks he'd get. For now though, he shivered under the covers and pulled them up around him as the Doctor's unmistakable scent surrounded him, clutching the lube against him half in fear and half in desire, fluctuating with every heartsbeat. He waited for a few hours like that before he fell into an uneasy sleep.

The Master awoke much later to a hand lightly caressing his cheek. The Doctor's hand. The Doctor was _touching_ him. After nearly four weeks of dreaming incessantly of those hands on his body, the Master didn't think. He couldn't have if he tried. He leaned into the touch, sighing softly against the calluses that brushed against his cheek.

The Doctor froze for a moment, then pulled away. "Sorry," he said quietly, unaware of the intense longing the Master felt for those fingers. "I didn't mean to wake you. I'll leave, if that's what you want."

The Master nearly snapped back that yes, he did want the Doctor to leave. Instead, he tensed and opened his eyes, controlling his temper as he tried to stick to the plan. He wasn't quite sure what he had planned to actually say, but it certainly wasn't the words that tumbled from his mouth. "I want you to fuck me again."

"Pardon?" the Doctor said as his eyebrows shot up his forehead and he gaped openly.

Pushing back the covers, the Master held out the lube for the Doctor to take, but the Doctor just stared at him dumbly. "Take it," he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed as he advanced on the Doctor.

"Master, I don't think-"

"You said you were going to make life more tolerable for me!" Pushing the Doctor into his reading chair, the Master ignored the cold and the drums pounding in his head. He leaned forward, grabbing the Doctor's cock through his trousers, and smiled grimly. "You want this. I want it," he said, gripping the Doctor painfully. "Take me again. You said you wanted to make my life more bearable as your prisoner, so do it. Go on!"

For a moment, the Doctor was going to. His eyes were dark with lust and he hungrily eyed the Master as he held out the lube. Then the Doctor shook himself and took a deep, hitching breath as he pushed the Master's hand away. "This is _wrong_ ," he said, concentrating very hard on looking anywhere but at the Master. "It wasn't right the first time either. You're not thinking clearly, Master. Please, don't push me to that again while we're not thinking clearly. Put your clothes back on and-"

"If you won't do it, then I'll do it myself!" Sticking his fingers in the lube, the Master perched on the armrest of the chair and spread his legs. He jammed two fingers in, stretching himself and not caring how much it hurt or how the collar started to constrict against his throat in protest of hurting himself. He wasn't planning on killing himself, so it didn't knock him unconscious. The drums drove him on, stretching and adding a third finger before he was ready.

The Doctor's hands were suddenly around his wrists, pulling the Master's hands up with an almost painful grip. "Master, stop. You don't know what you want."

"Let go of me!" The Master tried to struggle, to pull away, but the Doctor's grip was strong and he held the Master fast. "I said I wanted this, so let _go_!"

"You don't want _this_ ," the Doctor said, giving a pointed look down at the Master's limp cock. The Master flushed angrily, annoyed that his body once again refused to do as he told it. He tried pulling away a second time, starting to feel a little panicked at the Doctor's iron grip.

He'd been about to try and kick the Doctor away, when the Doctor leaned up and kissed him gently on the lips. That manipulative bastard... The Master had no choice. He melted into the kiss, tension draining from his shoulders as he relaxed into the Doctor's mouth. He couldn't even protest as the Doctor pulled him off the armrest and into his lap. The Master was too busy kissing back desperately and soaking in the attention that the Doctor had denied him for almost four weeks for him to care. 

The drums were screaming at him when the Doctor finally pulled away, and the pain in his head was so much that the Master collapsed against the Doctor's shoulder as he gasped for breath. He didn't want to see the concern in the Doctor's eyes, so he buried his face against the Doctor's pinstripe suit and shivered. The Master found he couldn't even curse the weakness that reduced him to this, because the Doctor's arms came up around him and hugged him tightly.

It was all over too soon. He had to bite back a whimper as the Doctor let go of him, twisting his torso around to grab for something even as the Master clutched at him. The drums kept pounding away, making it almost impossible for him to think, but the Doctor was reaching for _something_. The Master tensed, his head hurting too much to raise it and see what the Doctor was getting. He could feel that the Doctor wasn't hard anymore so he couldn't want to... The Master shivered, pressing further against the Doctor.

The Doctor didn't do any of that, however, and the Master was surprised to find himself being wrapped up in the Doctor's trench coat. He must have thrown it over the back of the chair when he'd come in, the Master realized dimly over the pounding of his head. He curled up against the Doctor - conserving warmth, that was all, or so he told his pride - and the Doctor resumed holding him. The coat was tight over his shoulders, but he didn't care right now. He couldn't care, not while the drums overwhelmed him and the Doctor held him. It was too much for his brain to take at once, so he just settled into enjoying having the Doctor's coat around him.

It was thirty-four and a half minutes before the drums finally started to abate. Thirty-four minutes and twenty-eight seconds to be precise, and the Master was counting every heartbeat he heard in the Doctor's chest, needing the off-tempo beat to calm him. Similar, but not the same beat of the drums that he started to tap absently against the Doctor's sleeve.

He stayed that way for as long as his pride would allow and was about to pull away when the Doctor started talking. He talked about pointless, frivolous things like what they could have for lunch, a jam he'd picked up from such and such planet and did the Master know that tea was the third favorite subject of the first head of Covert Intelligence of the Interstellar Alliance? Good man, that one. Sharp, despite what people would eventually say about him. The Doctor had _liked_ him a lot, though it was a pity about the whole business with the telepaths. 

When that failed to draw the Master out into conversation, he tried a different track, going on and _reminiscing_. He started with their days at the Academy, how they'd built a fort on the land of the Master's family and defended it from make-believe Yeti and Cybermen until late into the night. Then they'd lay in the red grass and trace constellations in the stars. They made up their own mostly, since Time Lords shunned the sort of mythology that created such things and hadn't that been just _brilliant_? He talked about professors they'd both hated, the girl the Master had tried to bully when the Doctor gave her too much attention only to end up half-besotted with her himself. _That_ got the Doctor a few glares and short, monosyllabic answers from the Master, who hadn't yet gathered up the will to lift his head from the Doctor's shoulder and pull away.

The Doctor went on about their graduation, how they compared plans to steal their respective TARDISes and laughing at how the Master's first attempt had failed. He'd had ten years of house arrest while the Doctor had been successful and out traveling the universe. By the time the Doctor had gotten to that misadventure with the Axos, the Master was snapping full sentences and arguing when the Doctor had simply got it wrong.

Before he knew it, the Master was keeping up a good half of the conversation, smugly reminding the Doctor of his failure to have the proper papers to 'prove' his identity and trying not to be too breathless when the Doctor grinned down at him, teasing him about the filing cabinets he'd kept in his TARDIS. They were just... talking. Not arguing or yelling or trying to kill or hurt each other, but talking. When was the last time they'd had a conversation that wasn't part of the deadly game they played? It must have been centuries ago, back when the Doctor still drove that ridiculous roadster and the Master smoked Cuban cigars. It was sort of nice, actually, and he could tell the Doctor had missed this just as much as he had, despite neither of them knowing how much they'd needed this sort of conversation. 

And when the Doctor kissed the top of his head, tightening his arm around the Master's waist... Well, the Master scowled, naturally, sending the Doctor a glare as he snuggled closer to the Doctor's warm chest. No tricks, no games, no potential murder of innocents and it was almost wonderful not to have anything else between them.

"Come out with me this time," the Doctor said, grinning lazily down at the Master. The grin turned to a frown as the Master tensed, remembering that it wasn't simply 'just them' without tricks after all. "Master?"

"No," the Master said sharply, pulling away. He stood up as the Doctor's arms went slack, trying to pull the coat around him to make up for the lack of warmth. The Doctor was a skinny idiot though, so he ended up not succeeding very well. Skinny and tall, the coat almost brushed the floor as he walked, and he didn't want to be reminded of how the Doctor smelled anymore, despite the comfort the coat offered. 

The Doctor stood and followed him, taking hold of the Master's arm. Confusion was readily apparent on his face as he used it to hide the hurt at the Master's refusal. "Master, what's going-"

The Master pivoted to face him, annoyed at how much shorter and smaller he felt without anything other than the Doctor's coat to cover him. The coat and the collar around his neck. "I'm _not_ going outside to be paraded about as your _pet_ , trotting along after you on one of your grand adventures and telling you how wonderful you are! Oh, wait. I don't even rate as high as a _pet_ now, do I?" Yanking his arm free, he pushed the Doctor back and didn't wait for the surprised Doctor to gather his thoughts. "This isn't the collar of a _pet_. I'm lower than most _slaves_. I'm _not_ going out there where people can see how you've humiliated me!"

"Master, I never meant..." The Doctor's eyes widened as he tried to touch the Master, but the smaller man stepped back and denied him access. It was an attempt to control, to calm the Master, and he wasn't having it. The Doctor winced and tried again. "You aren't a slave or a pet, Master. The collar is necessary and you _know_ why. And I'm sorry about that, I really am, but you are here as my prisoner because of what you've done. We can go somewhere they won't recognize the collar or-"

The Master cut him off as he tried to change the subject, not willing to drop it just yet when it so obviously hurt the Doctor. "Funny, because that wasn't how you were acting earlier. It's okay to pet and coddle me under _your_ terms, is it? We can only have sex when _you_ want it? Is that-"

"You were the one who didn't want that," the Doctor cut in, his eyes closed in pain.

"Don't tell me what I want!"

The Doctor opened his eyes, and there was sorrow in them that was strong enough to swallow a black hole if given physical form. The Master took a step back, cowed by the open expression for a few seconds before fury took over again. The Doctor _dared_ look sad about putting him through this, like he was something to be pitied. Plans be screwed to hell, the Master was going to get what he wanted.

He closed the distance between them and roughly pushed the Doctor down on the bed. Pressing the lankier man against the mattress, the Master started kissing him violently as he crawled on top - on top, where he was _supposed_ to be. The place of control and power. He felt the thrill of conquest, ripping at the Doctor's shirt and tearing at the buttons. He was going to make the Doctor _pay_ for the humiliation he'd suffered, for all the suffering he'd gone through these past four weeks. The Doctor was going to _hurt_ just as much as he had...

The Doctor wasn't struggling.

Frowning, the Master pulled back from the bruising kiss to stare down at the Doctor. "Fight back!" he hissed, gripping the Doctor's shoulders until he cried out in pain. "Don't just sit there, do something!"

The Doctor didn't move, but he lay there breathlessly, staring up at the Master with sadness, not hurt in his dark brown eyes. The Master nearly started trembling as the Doctor slowly shook his head, forgiveness on his lips. 

His next reaction wasn't planned. It just happened, before the Master could even think to stop it. He struck the Doctor as hard as he could, drums pounding again, building to a crescendo in his head as the collar started to pinch his neck. The Master ignored the collar, anger pushing him beyond its control.

That got a reaction from the Doctor, who grabbed his wrist and pulled himself up. "No hitting," he said forcefully, his grip on the Master's wrist tightening as his eyes did even more damage cutting through the Master.

The Master didn't care, as his need for destruction overroding all his other senses. "You didn't listen to _me_ when I told you to stop!" he snarled as he tried to shake the Doctor off. "You didn't even try to stop! You just waited until I couldn't say no anymore. _Let go of me!_ " 

Freezing for a second, the Doctor's eyes widened as he dropped the Master's hand. The Master wasted no time after that. He struck the Doctor again before leaning down and biting hard on the Doctor's lip. He pushed the Doctor back down as forcefully as he could, ignoring the constricting pain around his neck. The Master wanted to choke him, but the collar had only just let him hit the Doctor. It would start being too restrictive if he tried to choke the Doctor and he did need to breathe. Right now he wanted to take the Doctor and hurt him in the ways the collar would let him. Make him live in the same hell that the Master had been in since Lucy shot him.

But the Doctor wasn't fighting. He responded to the Master's kiss, but only passively. The Doctor didn't try to take control again, didn't fight back, and wasn't even hard. The bastard couldn't even put up a proper fight. _Fine_. The Master would take him anyway. It wasn't like he needed the Doctor to enjoy himself. He needed control, to be the Doctor's true _Master_ and...

That was when he realized it. The Master was still out of control, spiraling into the madness of the drums as they screamed their eternal beat. He had no more control over the situation than the Doctor underneath him. No, that wasn't quite right.

The Doctor had control and was using it to not fight back.

The Master froze, starting to tremble as he pulled away from the Doctor. He got off the bed and took a step back as the Doctor sat up and wiped the blood off his lip. "Master?" he asked, not even having the decency to look winded. The Doctor had all the control, not him. Still not the Master.

He ran. The Master didn't stop for clothes or to take care of how hard he still was, just running as fast as he could to get out of that room and away from the man who made him lose all control. The Doctor called after him, but he ignored it. The Master needed to be in control again, and he couldn't do that with the Doctor around.

He went straight for the shower and turned the water to cold. He stayed in there for two hours, not caring about how much he trembled. He wasn't shivering from the cold anyway.

He'd never hit the Doctor before, not like that. They'd fought mentally and physically thousands of times before, even getting into a fist fight back at the academy where the Master had walked away with a black eye and the Doctor with a cracked rib. He had been in control of his anger then, however, calculating every move before he struck. 

This was different. This was his anger controlling _him_ and the Doctor had stopped trying to fight back... And it terrified him that he'd lost that much control, more than being unable to stop the Doctor from taking him that first night on the TARDIS. He'd lost his temper before, but not like this.

After the shower, he crawled into the bed the Doctor had put in this section of the TARDIS for him. After sleeping in the Doctor's bed, he hardly wanted to go back to sleeping on the floor. There was no point, not when the Doctor never bothered to check on him to see the defiance. Unfortunately, the bed was where he'd thrown the Doctor's coat before retreating to the shower.

Taking hold of the coat, the Master felt a strong desire to hold it against him and curl around it pathetically. Instead, he bunched it up and threw it across the room, reminding himself that he didn't _want_ to curl up with something that smelled like the Doctor. He hadn't fallen that low yet.

He felt the TARDIS materialize, but stayed in bed shivering. The Master was determined to blame the cold and not his body's inability to cope with everything. Spending another two miserable hours staring at the ceiling bruised and weary, the Master finally fell asleep.

When the Master woke up again, he felt a little better. He refused to apologize to the Doctor for hitting him, but... The Doctor did need his coat back. He'd be hungry when he got back from whatever adventure he went out on, more than likely. Naturally, the Master refused to cook for him, but... if he was going to make something for himself and there happened to be a little extra, the Doctor could have some of the leftovers. He wasn't adverse to saving the Doctor a little bit _this time_ , especially if he burned the Doctor's portion. Hopefully, it would be cold by the time the Doctor got back too.

Getting up, he went to the wardrobe to find something to wear. However, the malicious bitch that was the heart of the TARDIS did not appreciate what he'd done to her Time Lord. Instead of the usual inoffensive white shirts and trousers she'd given him before, _now_ all he could find were cricket outfits much like the Doctor wore in his fifth body. The doors to the big Wardrobe were suspiciously locked, and every other closet he tried yielded nothing but more cricket outfits. They didn't even _fit_ him properly, still being too big for him.

He weighed the indignity of wearing the Rassilon-forsaken outfit versus walking around with a blanket wrapped around him and decided that, for now, the cricket outfit was the lesser of the two evils. Blankets really didn't afford a lot of movement and the cricket jumper would at least cover him completely. The Master wanted the dignity that any sort of clothes could give him after everything that had happened since he'd been shot.

Cutting off the ridiculous question marks from the shirt collar, the Master pulled the jumper over it and rolled up the trousers so he wouldn't be tripping over the hem. Thankfully, the TARDIS at least allowed him a belt so he didn't have to fashion one on his own. He felt ridiculous and just a little pathetic for wearing something that was so obviously the Doctor's, but at least they were clothes.

He stalked into the main kitchen in a very foul mood. He contemplated his choices before deciding on an Italian cookbook he found on the back of a shelf. He'd grown to like Italian while he'd been stuck on Earth the first time, and it'd stuck with the rest of his regenerations. Lucy always gushed when he cooked before they'd moved to the Valiant and had people to do such things for them, and the Master realized it really had been a while since he'd had the kitchen to himself. Flipping through the book, he found a recipe for Chicken Alfredo and got to work.

He hadn't had a real meal since he'd been taken captive, sticking with sandwiches and whatever else he pilfered from the pantry. It kept him from starving, yes, but it wasn't what he'd been used to on the Valiant. The act of cooking was calming, however, and he always found solace in it when the drums got too loud. All cooking added up to was a well thought-out and followed plan, after all. It offered him a much-needed way to control _something_ , even if it was just the kitchen and ingredients. He controlled how long the chicken cooked, how much carefully measured cream to use for the sauce and when the noodles were al dente, mixing it all together expertly. In the end, he had the same satisfied feeling he got when one of his plans worked flawlessly. It was certainly a lot different from how Theta used to cook, just throwing whatever he could find together, usually ending up just as infuriatingly tasty. The Master much preferred  
precise instructions and recipes, even if it was just one of his own.

He cleaned up more out of habit and distaste for a dirty room, more than because he wanted to clean up the ungrateful TARDIS. He set aside a meticulously proportioned plate of the intentionally burned portion for the Doctor, wrapping it in the plastic wrap as he put the rest away in the refrigerator. He left the plate on the counter, not planning on telling the Doctor about it to save himself the explanation. He did carefully fold the Doctor's coat and place it over the kitchen chair though, to wait patiently for the Doctor to return.

By the time he'd finished, the Doctor still wasn't back yet. The Master contemplated his next course of action. He needed to confront the Doctor again, but this time on his own terms. Since his attempt at seducing the Doctor only backfired... Ignoring him was the best course of action for now. Ignoring the Doctor just like he'd ignored the Master, except for a few cutting remarks that the Master had pre-planned in order to have the best effectiveness of hurting the Doctor. Yes, that sounded like it would work, provided he kept himself aloof and didn't let the Doctor touch him. If he could actually follow through with this plan, his displeasure would be fairly obvious to even that skinny idiot. 

Picking a book from the library on the history of the Shadow War, the Master made himself comfortable in the main console room to wait. He was halfway through annotating all the things history got wrong in the third volume when he heard the key turning in the TARDIS lock, signaling the Doctor's return. 

All of his plans fell through when the Doctor collapsed on the ground after shutting the door firmly behind him. The Master's hearts jumped to his throat as he saw the wounds the Doctor had sustained, and the book dropped to the floor as he considered his new options. The collar wouldn't hurt him for doing nothing, after all, and he could just sit there and let the Doctor die from blood loss...

There... wasn't much choice, he realized glumly. As much as he would have enjoyed watching the Doctor die, the last time he had done such a thing the Doctor spent an entire regeneration hating him. The Doctor had left him to burn to death in the end, and the mental pain of that outweighed the burns he'd gotten. The Doctor had completely forsaken him, and the Master wasn't entirely sure he could go through that again.

The Doctor coughed on the floor, trying to sit up on his own. Walking forward, the Master crouched down next to him without touching. "What happened?" he asked dispassionately, despite the twinge of his hearts at seeing the bruise on the Doctor's cheek. He hadn't gotten that one from the trip outside.

"Unfriendly natives," the Doctor said, punctuated with another cough. He was bruised all over and bleeding heavily from his leg and a cut on his forehead. 

When the Master still made no move to help him, the Doctor tried to stumble to his feet to reach the console. He didn't ask for help and the Master didn't offer. The Master had thought that he was going to the console for support, but he realized too late that the Doctor was actually reaching for the lever to dematerialize. "You _idiot_ , don't-"

He didn't have a chance to hold on to anything as the TARDIS took off violently. The Master was nearly thrown against the wall, the drums hounding at him as he barely managed to hook himself around one of the columns as the TARDIS shook again. How the Doctor managed to cling to the console in his weakened state was beyond the Master, and frankly he was too concerned with his own efforts to find out.

Finally, the TARDIS stopped shaking as the Doctor brought her to drift in the Vortex. He dropped to the ground after that, unconscious. Gingerly, the Master let go of his column and walked over to where the Doctor lay, checking him over. Yup. Out cold.

Which is what the Master had been waiting for. He might have decided to help the Doctor, but that didn't mean he'd do it while the other man was awake to see it. Once he was sure the TARDIS was stable, he quickly retrieved a first aid kit and got to work.

Again, the Master was terribly tempted to just let the Doctor bleed to death. It would serve him right after all the humiliation he had caused the Master. But regeneration was a tricky process, and the Doctor might be less willing to put up with him in the next one. Humiliation and collar aside, the Master was well aware of how easy the Doctor was going on him compared to most captors. The Master knew he'd eventually be able to trick and escape from _this one_. The next regeneration might not be as forgiving, especially if the Master could have saved the previous body. 

So without further deliberation, the Master rolled up the Doctor's trouser leg and started cleaning the wound for dressing. It was a bit awkward to do on the floor, but moving the Doctor to a bed would have implied that he cared. No, keeping the Doctor from dying would fulfill his daily quota of caring for today and probably through to next week. 

After he finished dressing the Doctor's leg, the Master moved on to the cut on his forehead. A quick check proved those to be the only two serious wounds and according to the scanner the Doctor didn't have a concussion. The Doctor must have fainted from the blood loss or stress from piloting the TARDIS then. The Master found a walking stick for the Doctor in one of the storage areas and left it just outside the Doctor's reach. 

He paused then, intending to go back to his book, but the Master found he wasn't quite ready to leave the Doctor's side. It was rare to have the Doctor this vulnerable and there were so many things he could do while the Doctor was unaware. All of them flashed across his mind within seconds; he could trap the Doctor, force him to take off the collar, take revenge for what had been done to him, and...

The Master did none of those things, reaching out with a trembling hand to caress the Doctor's sleeping face. This was too good of an opportunity to waste, yet he found he couldn't take it. The Master leaned down and kissed the Doctor, tasting the sweet tea and grief on his tongue and losing himself in the Doctor's mouth.

Lying down next to the Doctor on the ground, the Master curled up around him, placing his head against the Doctor's chest. The drums pounded against the silence, only the soft hum of the TARDIS making any real noise. It was hard for him to hear the Doctor's hearts beating over the drums, but he thought the Doctor's left heart sounded a little faster than it should be.

He stayed that way, focusing on the beating of the Doctor's hearts to calm the drums. It helped being near the Doctor, as much as he didn't want to admit it. He still couldn't help tapping the rhythm out against the Doctor's chest though. The Doctor was always full of other noises: heartbeats, babbling, even just breathing... It eventually drowned out his headache and replaced it with something more soothing. He closed his eyes, relaxing for the first time in weeks.

When the Doctor started to stir, he pulled away automatically, standing up and grabbing his book as he tried to settle himself in a chair half way across the room before the Doctor's eyes opened. On second thought, his earlier plans were in shambles, and he didn't want to confront the Doctor right now. He fled to the kitchen to make tea and another meal - for himself this time, not saving anything for the Doctor - eating in silence as the drums returned. After the meal, he retreated to his part of the TARDIS, finishing the book and wondering what was wrong with him.

The next day, he got up to make some lunch. He was leaving plans to torment the Doctor until after dinner, giving him more time to fiddle with the collar, but lunch for now. More Italian, because the last recipe really had been good and it saved him the effort of finding another cookbook out of the Heinlein, Dickens, and Asimov that had somehow gotten mixed in. He was just cleaning up when the Doctor limped in, his shoulders stiffening as the Doctor looked him over. 

"Do you want me to leave?" the Doctor asked.

The Master flushed, leaving the dishes in the sink and not caring if the room was left dirty. He didn't need to be tip-toed around like he was a piece of glass. "I was just leaving," he snapped, starting to walk towards the door. Unfortunately, that meant walking past the Doctor as well. 

No matter. The Doctor wasn't hogging the doorway, so he could slide by without touching him. Except the Doctor never played by the rules as far as personal space went. He reached out to the Master, grabbing him by the arm. "Let go of me," the Master said with a glare.

"Master, just wait, please..." It was the pleading in the Doctor's voice that gave him pause. He didn't try to break out of the Doctor's grip, though he didn't let up on the glare either. The Doctor shifted uncomfortably, his grip on the Master's arm becoming more of a caress. "I just wanted to say thank you for what you did."

"I didn't do it for you," the Master said flatly, not succeeding in putting more venom in his voice. "I couldn't exactly escape if you died."

The Doctor smiled, rubbing his hand up and down the Master's arm in a slow manner that sent shivers down the Master's spine. "Regardless of your reasons... Thank you." 

The Master just nodded, knowing he should pull away and leave, yet unable to willingly move away from that touch. It was infuriating, the effect the Doctor had on him.

The Doctor was looking at him, really looking at him now, for the first time since he'd collapsed in the TARDIS. The smile changed to a grin as he pulled away and left the Master completely baffled... and then started to laugh hysterically. "What?" the Master asked, feeling like he was left out of a joke and not liking the sensation at all.

"You..." the Doctor gasped, nearly falling over as he leaned the wrong way against the cane the Master had found for him. The Master felt his cheeks flush as he realized the Doctor was laughing at _him_. That hurt almost more than he could bear and frightened him even more than that. Before he could snap a defensive reply, the Doctor continued. "My old _cricket_ outfit, Master?"

Oh.

While the Master's hearts were still beating rapidly, it was at least understandable. That didn't stop the blush from creeping up his cheeks at what the Doctor was implying, however. He _hadn't_ worn it just to have something to remind him of the Doctor, anything but. "Your TARDIS wouldn't give me anything else to wear," he said through grit teeth. His hands fisted as he stood there, fury and anxiety almost overwhelming him.

He didn't look up as he heard the Doctor hobble closer, still laughing though trying to stifle it. The Master felt his eyes widen, however, as the Doctor's lips brushed against his forehead. "Sorry," the Doctor said, managing to control his laughter finally. "It's not very funny, not really. I'll see what I can do about that."

The Master was still strung up, almost hyper-aware of how close the Doctor was to him, of the Doctor's hand on his arm and the smell of blood on the bandages. Worst of all, the drums pounding over everything, including his own hearts beating.

"Master, are you alright?" the Doctor asked, moving his hand up to the Master's cheek. The Master leaned into the caress, closing his eyes as the Doctor's fingers gently traced his cheek bone. His knees felt weak and his breathing uneven as he tried to concentrate but found himself even more lost to the scent of tea and sorrow that made up this regeneration of the Doctor. "Master..."

His eyes flew open as the Doctor spoke, and he slapped the Doctor's hand away as he took a step back, breathing heavily. Rassilon, what was he turning into? It terrified him almost as much as the Doctor's laughing had. "Stop it!" he yelled as he took another halting step back. 

The Doctor half reached out to him again, but stopped as the Master shied away. "Stop what?" he asked instead, confusion in his voice as he held back from stepping closer. 

"Stop controlling me!" The Master balled his fists, shoulders rising as fury coursed through him. And the Doctor had the gall to look _stunned_ by the accusation. " _I'm_ the Master, not you. I'm not going to sit around and _let_ you do this to me."

"I'm not trying to control you," the Doctor said uncertainly, brown eyes searching the Master's face as if the answer he sought was there. "I'd never-"

"You wouldn't?" The Master laughed mirthlessly, sanity slipping away as the drums escalated. He took a step forward and smiled as it was the Doctor who limped back this time. "I suppose this collar is just for decoration then?" The Master clicked his tongue as he pursed his lips together, frowning comically. "'And quite fetching it is too', was that what you said, Doctor? Do you make a fashion of subjugating people now or is it just a passing fad?"

The Doctor closed his eyes, and the Master exalted in every second that lovely expression of grief stayed intact. "Master, that's because of your crimes. It's not to control you, other than to make sure you don't escape or try to hurt people. You are a prisoner."

"And that's not controlling? Taking away my freedom to do as I like?"

"I can't let you hurt anyone else," the Doctor said simply, barely controlling the anguish in his tone. 

The Master smiled. He was going to win this round and he was back in control. It was a heady feeling, a feeling that was _right_ and this was exactly how things should be. "Oh, but that's not even the worst of it, is it Doctor? No, the collar wasn't enough for you to play at being 'Lord and Master,' was it?"

Opening his eyes, the Doctor watched him wearily. They were back at the game of hurting each other as much as possible and the Master fed on the tension, on the Doctor's careful words. He was practically gleeful at how this would end, at the victory his words would grant him. "I don't know what you're talking about," the Doctor said finally, back to a stony countenance as he tried to guess what angle the Master would attack from.

Oh, but he wouldn't see this one coming. "Don't you? Those small touches, the kisses aimed to disable me, calm me down? Are you saying it wasn't manipulative to pleasure me until I was forced to _beg_ for what you did to me?"

The Doctor's eyes widened as he gasped. "I didn't... Master's that's not why-"

"Isn't it?" The Master asked, his eyes hardening as he advanced on the Doctor who took another limping step back until he ran into the kitchen counter. The sheer domesticity of the setting didn't fail to annoy the Master, but he wasn't about to stop now because the irony offended him. "You never used them before, not once in all the centuries I've known you. You never tried to use this sort of control, not during the Year or before that. Now that you're in charge, everything changes. You ignored me for _weeks_ , making me come to you. Or is that _necessary_ to keep me from hurting people too?"

It was so tempting to claim that gaping mouth with a punishing kiss. He moved closer, relishing the Doctor's quickening pulse as he leaned in. The Doctor bit back a small gasp of pain as he accidentally pressed back against one of the many bruises he had sustained. "Is it, Doctor?" the Master asked again. "What's wrong, cat got your tongue? Or are you trying to resist the urge to kiss me to shut me up and prove me right?" 

"I left you alone since that night because I thought you didn't want to see me. And before that, I just didn't..." the Doctor said finally, shaking his head and swallowing. "Master, I'm not trying to manipulate you."

"Then why start now?" the Master yelled, causing the Doctor to wince at the sound. He lowered his voice to an angry hiss. His fury was above even shouting. "What's so different about now that you'll touch me and fuck me senseless, if it's not a power trip?"

"I thought you were dead, after the war," the Doctor whispered, a tremor of emotion under his voice that couldn't be hidden. "I never realized how much I would miss you."

The Master took a hesitant step back as he processed what the Doctor had said. That wasn't part of the plan, not how this argument was supposed to go. He was losing control of it and he had to get back to hurting the Doctor somehow... Yet all he could do was stand there and act stunned. "What do you mean?" he demanded shakily, trying to buy time to think of how to use the earlier admission against the Doctor.

"I mean you and the rest of the Time Lords were _dead_ ," the Doctor said flatly, straightening up with a wince and shifting off his bad foot. "And I thought about you... You know, it's funny. All that time I was half convinced you were invincible. Koschei the Deathless, refusing to accept your own mortality. Then you were _gone_ , you and all the others. It was me that survived the longest, but you weren't supposed to be gone!" 

The Master started to tremble, though he tried to hide the fact as much as possible. He'd never expected the accusation in the Doctor's voice. He hadn't expected the sheer amount of grief in the Doctor's eyes either, and he stood there numbly as the Doctor went on, the terrible storm building and raging on. "All that time, I thought you were dead and I realized that I'd never held you, never kissed you, and I regretted that. Master, I regretted that so much."

The drums were pounding in his head incessantly, making it nigh impossible to think. He struggled to grab onto a thought, to keep hold of the conversation. "You didn't... You didn't try it before though. You had that whole Year."

"Master, you were killing people and hurting my friends. I couldn't, not while you were destroying everything." The Doctor limped forward and the Master steeled himself. He refused to retreat from this, refused to back down from the drums screaming in his head. 

"Master-"

"So you're saying this can only be on your terms?" the Master asked, putting as much venom into his voice as he could manage while still reeling. "What about my terms? My desires? What if I say I can't live with your way of doing things any more than you can live with mine?"

The Doctor stopped moving, lowering the hand he was reaching out with to touch the Master. It fell back to his side and through the screaming of the drums the Master could see the heartbreak on the Doctor's face. That should have been a triumph, but the Master couldn't muster up a feeling of success. "Then I'm sorry, but you're still my responsibility," the Doctor said sadly. "It's my duty to keep you from hurting anyone."

The Master was cruelly reminded of the fact that the Doctor could and did live without him. However much the Doctor _said_ that he'd missed him, it was the same. The Doctor could and did refuse his terms, but the Master wasn't so sure he could do the same, not now that he'd had this. 

The drums weren't going away either, the silence spurring them on as reality crumbled around him. He heard the Doctor call his name, but he could barely register the Doctor's voice over the pounding, much less formulate a reply. The Master swayed in place, not entirely sure how he managed to stay upright at all. "Can't you hear them? The drums?" he asked, almost pleading.

When the Doctor's arms wrapped around him, leading him to the kitchen table, it was like the sound barrier had been broken. He could hear the Doctor's words over the drums and could finally understand them. "-so sorry, but I _can't_. Master, it's just the noise in your head. It's not real. Just let me help you..."

The last time he'd heard those words, he'd been defeated, about to be shot and brought back to life against his wishes. He'd still tried to fight them, falling on a back-up plan of a back-up plan that the Doctor had smashed out of his hand. This time the pounding was worse, and all he could do was lean against the Doctor for support. Somehow, he managed to end up in one of the kitchen chairs with the Doctor beside him, holding him close.

The drums usually weren't this bad before. They'd gotten worse since the Time War ended and once he'd regained himself in Malcassairo. Now they sometimes overwhelmed him to the point of collapsing. The Master made sure no one saw him during those times, however, not even Lucy. This was twice now in the past couple of days that all he could do was feebly clutch at the Doctor as the drums took his control away. The fact that the Doctor was here and how much the Master _needed_ him...

He hated every second of it, yet couldn't bear to tear himself away.

The Doctor babbled on about the War, about how he would help the Master, about the places they could go. He only half paid attention to the Doctor's words as the four hellish beats took over his consciousness. Three words kept coming up, however. Three words the Doctor kept repeating over and over again with almost the same repetitive resonance of the drums. Not 'I'm so sorry', or 'Let me help', though the Doctor did say those two phrases plenty of times as well. No, these three words the Mater had only dreamed the Doctor would say in his wildest fantasies and darkest nightmares. The Master still didn't know if he believed them, but he clung to the words regardless.

"I hate you," the Master said weakly in response, pressing flurried kisses to the Doctor's neck as the drums demanded more. He started to loosen the Doctor's tie and undo the buttons that had been hidden underneath. It was terrible, because he had no more control over his body than he had that first night on the TARDIS, yet he couldn't stop. He couldn't really hate it either, no matter what he'd said.

The Doctor caught his hands again, gently this time though. "Are you sure you want this?" he asked, searching the Master's hazel eyes. 

Did he want this? Yes-Yes-Yes-Yes. No-No-No-No. Four drum beats screaming at him to go on, four heart beats too frightened to continue. He didn't want these terms of engagement, didn't want to give in and say yes to what the Doctor was asking of him for even a second, not when the Doctor could refuse his in return. At the same time, he did desperately want this, wanted the Doctor's love for as long as he could have it. 

This affair was ever a fleeting thing, as anything involving the Doctor ended up being. Inevitably, they would end up fighting again, but right now he could have the Doctor's hands running along his body even as he was allowed to touch the Doctor in return. He could bask in those three words just for a short time, even if the Doctor could never meant them in the way the Master wanted him to. 

The Master closed his eyes, the Doctor staying perfectly still as he waited for the Master's answer. He didn't give the Master an excuse to say he'd been forced into the decision this time, and the Master spent equal beats cursing and blessing him for it. He needed the control, but he didn't want to have to make this choice. In the end, it came down to one simple thing. 

Better to have this now than never at all.

"Yes," he said finally as he opened his eyes. Wincing at how weak his voice sounded, the Master swallowed before trying again. "I do want this. I want..."

The Doctor leaned down, kissing away his doubts until he was delirious with sensation. He moaned into the Doctor's mouth as the lanky man stroked him through those ridiculously striped trousers. The Master's own hands were fumbling with shirt buttons, increasingly frustrated as he couldn't remember how to work them properly. His memory was _not_ helped by the Doctor's other hand squeezing his arse, either, but he was damned if he would stop kissing the Doctor long enough to tell him that.

Last time, the Master's inability to stop had been his sole focus under the beat of the drums. Now though, once he had gotten those blasted buttons of the Doctor's shirt undone, he could focus on the Doctor. He ran his hands down that skinny torso under the Doctor's shirt before pinching the Doctor's nipples, making sure to be careful of the bruises that were visible on the Doctor's shoulders. The Doctor had been careful of his wounds last time, despite everything else, always gentle with his shoulder. As much as the Master liked seeing the Doctor in pain, he was far more rewarded by watching the Doctor gasp in pleasure as he tightened his grip around the Master's cock. 

That was... Oh, that was impossibly good, feeling the Doctor getting harder because of what he'd done. The Master stopped kissing him long enough to move his mouth down to gently suck and bite at the Doctor's chest. Those short gasps and long moans were his new addiction and the Master greedily pulled the Doctor's hips closer.

He wasn't sure how, but one second he was half crawling into the Doctor's lap, the next he was being pressed up against the table with the Doctor making short work of the Rassilon-forsaken striped trousers. The Master kicked the rest of them off, his bare feet pushing them to the side as he desperately tried to rub against the table for more friction. 

Then the Doctor turned him around and was biting down on his neck - _again_ \- and as the Doctor sucked at the spot the Master no longer thought. Control was slipping away from him again as his hips bucked up against the Doctor. For a moment, the sick fear came back. He clutched at the Doctor, desperately caught between pleasure and terror. Every other time he'd had intimate encounters with others, he'd never lost control of himself, even in his pleasure. He'd had sex with Lucy regularly after they'd been married, but he was always in control of how he hurt her, of how he allowed her to pleasure him. But all those people, they had never been the Doctor. The Doctor drove him _mad_ in a way that even the drums couldn't and his hard-fought concentration was spiraling out of control.

It terrified him.

"Sh..." the Doctor said into his ear, lips brushing against his skin and sending shivers down the Master's spine. No, those weren't shivers. The Master was trembling. He flushed with shame as the Doctor held him against his chest, hand stilling on the Master's cock completely and moving away. 

"It's okay," the Doctor said gently, eyes closed in concentration as he focused on restraint. "I'll stop this time, if that's what you want. Do you want to stop?" 

The Master didn't think. He just turned to kiss the Doctor, careful of the bruise he'd left when he'd hit the Doctor. But the Doctor pulled him back even as the Master whimpered at the loss. "Master, listen to me. You need to actually make this choice. Do you want to stop?"

The Master's eyes came into focus as he sat there breathlessly. Blessedly, control seeped back to him as he realized what the Doctor was doing. It was a form of control, to agree to give it up willingly. If he said he wanted to go further, he would lose himself but he wouldn't be _lost_ like he had last time. The Doctor was giving him this, the control to want to lose himself. Part of him hated the Doctor for needing _him_ to give it, but a larger part was just grateful for the chance to get his head above the water to keep from drowning.

The Master forced himself to take a deep breath, grasping at the control the Doctor offered. Did he want this? Well, it was rather obvious that his body did, with every second the Doctor's hands were absent from him a constant reminder of what the Master was missing. His body apparently had no problem letting the Doctor do whatever the hell he wanted to it. 

The Master's mind, on the other hand... He didn't _want_ to lose any more control than he already had. His fear was nearly to a tipping point, overflowing to drown him if he weren't careful. While he wasn't adverse to showing weakness or fear if the occasion called for it (generally in pleading for his life, which he was never above doing), he didn't like being controlled by it any more than he liked his body responding on its own accord to the Doctor. Which meant... if he could control the fear, did he want this?

Rassilon, _yes_.

He could feel the Doctor's growing concern as the Master's breath hitched, but he didn't want the Doctor's concern. He wanted the Doctor's hands on his body, the Doctor's mouth on his and lust driving away every thought except for the Master from the Doctor's mind. It was his right to have it, because the Doctor's submission was _his_.

The Master let go of his control, this time willingly putting his head under the water. He kissed the Doctor, raising his hips off the table to press against the Doctor's still maddeningly covered erection.

"I'll take that as a yes then?" the Doctor asked cheerfully as the Master was forced to gasp for breath when the Doctor's hands started moving again. The Master started to pull that bloody jumper over his head, but he got distracted when the Doctor's hand-

"Doctor!" he gasped, grabbing the Doctor's wrist and only sparing a second to wonder where in Rassilon's name the Doctor had gotten the lube from. Or when he'd managed to put it on his fingers, for that matter. He would realize later that the Doctor's coat was half-falling off the chair he'd folded it on earlier, as if someone had been fumbling through the pockets blindly while waiting for the Master to make up his mind. Right now he had more pressing things to worry about, literally pressing against him, waiting to spread him open.

The Doctor grinned, running his other hand down the Master's thighs lightly and to his shame his legs opened automatically. "You liked it last time," the Doctor said, kissing the Master's neck again. The Master whimpered, trying to stop himself from sliding down the table to meet the Doctor's fingers. He found his grip on the Doctor's wrist relaxing despite his best efforts to the contrary. The Doctor's lips were moving upward to his ear, pausing for just a second as the Master shuddered against him. "Please let me, _Master_ ," the Doctor whispered, lips brushing against the Master's ear.

"You manipulative _bast_ -Yes! Oh... Doctor, you're... I _really_ hate you... Ah, more, please..." The Doctor was biting down and sucking on his ear, his fingers stretching the Master open the second he let go of the bastard's wrist. The Master got harder every time the Doctor asked, each time using his name. The Doctor gave him the chance to refuse, knowing full well he couldn't have said no if he wanted to. At the same time, it was the illusion of control that the Master clung to, that the Doctor had to _ask_ his permission to add a second and third finger, to kiss his shoulder and to be called Master between every kiss. It was an infuriating-glorious-terrifying-euphoric ecstasy that grew with every beat of the drums.

"You'll build a resistance to this, I'm sure," the Doctor said with a damnable smirk as the Master barely managed a glare. "Which means I need to take advantage of this while I can." Quite honestly, the Master wasn't sure he'd ever be able to build up a resistance if the Doctor was going to be so hellishly good at this, but he wasn't allowed much of a chance to even consider it as the Doctor's fingers curled inside him.

When the Doctor pulled his fingers out, the Master whimpered, his hips bucking at the loss. The Doctor didn't have to ask to enter him. He was already begging for it. The Master was flipped over onto his stomach, still wearing the long forgotten jumper and straining against the table as the Doctor leaned over him and asked anyway. "May I enter you, Master?"

The Master practically screamed yes as the Doctor rubbed his erection over the Master's arse and he gasped and moaned as the Doctor finally pushed in. How the Doctor was managing to do all this standing when the Master knew for a fact how bad the wound on his leg had been, the Master didn't know. Himself, he was barely able to keep his legs from buckling under him even as he used the table for support.

The Doctor, bastard that he was, took his time about it. He'd work both of them up nearly to the brink before stopping short and teasingly pulling out completely. Then he'd touch the Master mentally and start the whole process again until the Master could barely remember his own name. All he knew was the Doctor.

"Master..." the Doctor whispered in his ear after several long kisses to his shoulder. The lust in the Doctor's voice was driving him mad, and the Master arched back against the Doctor's body greedily, whimpering as he still didn't get the release he craved. The Doctor, however, came inside him, calling out the Master's name. After a few more thrusts, the Doctor leaned back over to the Master's ear breathlessly. "Master, may I make you come?"

"Yes!" the Master practically sobbed. It only took a few strokes before the Master was released, falling limply against the Doctor who pulled out of him and managed to drag both of their weary bodies back over to one of the chairs. The Doctor was still stroking him through the aftershocks as the Master curled up against him. It was the last thing he remembered before dropping off to sleep.

He awoke sometime later, surprised to find himself sans the rest of his clothes and tucked away in the Doctor's bed. He wasn't even going to try and contemplate how the Doctor had managed this feat when he couldn't put any weight on his left leg. Instead, he blinked wearily and pressed closer against the Doctor who was just as naked and curled up around him. The drums were still present - always present - but were quiet, simply part of the never-ending background noise in his head. 

The Master hadn't felt this _good_ in ages, in spite of how sore his body was. He didn't let himself think about anything other than his euphoria of having the Doctor at this moment. How he had _dreamed_ of this, ever since their days in the academy, to wake up sated with the Doctor in his arms. His happiness was only a passing illusion that would be gone the second he grounded himself back in the reality of their circumstances, but one he willingly let himself be lost to while the Doctor still slept.

He soon fell asleep again in the Doctor's arms, dreaming of the Doctor willingly being this close to him. A dream he didn't want to wake up from to return to the fighting and hurting each other. Even as he thought that, however, the dream turned into a nightmare as the collar cut into his throat and the Doctor watched mercilessly. The collar choked him and tortured him with shocks that sent immense pain through his body, but not killing him as the Doctor laughed. This sort of nightmare always used to end with his death, but now it kept going in an eternal hell.

Before his terror could wake him up, however, he felt the Doctor's mind unobtrusively enter his, sending thoughts of warmth and comfort that the Master had never imagined possible. Without looking at the dream, the Doctor eased it out of the Master's thoughts and memory. He gave the Master a fond mental caress before leaving him once again for a more restful sleep.

A few hours later, he woke to the Doctor's fingers rubbing against his cheek lightly. It was a movement that was so light it was obviously aimed not to wake him, as if the Doctor simply needed to touch the Master to remind himself this was real. He let the Doctor continue to think he was asleep for a while, simply relishing in the small touch and the warmth of the Doctor's body against his. 

Finally, the Master mustered up enough willpower to open his eyes and glare at the Doctor. The look earned him a raised eyebrow, but he didn't let up on the gaze. "That wasn't what I meant when I said I wanted it," the Master explained. The harshness of his voice due to sleep thankfully covered most of the sulking tone that had crept up on him.

The Doctor smiled, kissing him on the forehead. "I know. I'm sorry. I promise, next time I'll behave a bit better."

The words 'next time' sent a pleasant shiver down the Master's spine as he let the Doctor coax him out of the glare. "I'm sorry about..." the Doctor started lightly, pulling the Master closer before he continued. "I'm sorry you thought I was ignoring you, too. I did check on you, but... Well, I thought you didn't want to see me, so I stayed out of your way."

The Master didn't respond to that, though he accepted the logic. It still hurt, those four weeks of longing, but learning that the Doctor _had_ checked on him eased some of it. "I'm still going to escape," the Master said sometime later, resting his head against the Doctor's neck. He could pretend that he was happy right now, but that's all it was, pretending. So long as he was a prisoner with this collar around his neck, the Master would continue to be miserable.

The Doctor merely nodded, his fingers nearly tracing down to the collar before pulling away hastily. "I know," he said, arms tightening fractionally around the Master. "I'm sorry. I am sorry, Master. But I can't let you go, not after all you've done. I'll try to make things more bearable for-"

"Don't," the Master growled, his shoulders tensing as he ducked his head. He didn't want to see the Doctor's eyes right now. "Don't start. I don't want to hear it! I'm sick of your apologies and 'making things more bearable' when I still have this _slave_ collar around my neck. Apologies won't change things. I still won't forgive you."

The Doctor stilled at this and for awhile neither of them spoke. As much as he wanted to, the Master couldn't quite bring himself to pull away. Slowly the Doctor's hands started to massage the tension out of his shoulders. When he spoke again, it wasn't with apologies. "I'm glad you stayed this time."

Looking up in surprise, the Master didn't respond. He did arch into the Doctor's hands though, pressing a light kiss to the Doctor's collarbone. It was wrong for him to stay like this, and the Master knew it. His pride was wounded enough that he couldn't afford to remain or not use this as part of his escape, but the Master couldn't bring himself to care just yet. He wanted to be close to the Doctor, circumstances and all, and that desire was currently overriding his tattered pride.

"Where do we go from here?" the Master heard himself ask. He frowned at how weak his voice sounded, coughing experimentally as he tried to figure out how that had happened. 

The Doctor shook his head, mussed fringe falling into his eyes. "I don't know," he said. The Master absently drummed against the Doctor's chest, the constant beat reminding him of just how much was unknown between them. It frightened him a little, not knowing what to expect or what to plan from here.

The Doctor continued speaking, a hand reaching out to cover the Master's but not stopping him from drumming. "Hadn't really planned on much... Just been winging it, for the most part. Always worked for me in the past. Do you want a plan?"

He did, actually, but the Master shook his head in response. He could come up with something on his own when he could think clearly, probably far better than any attempt at a plan he could discuss with this particular regeneration of the Doctor. Besides, then the Doctor wouldn't know his full hand.

The Doctor grinned lazily down at him, kissing his forehead again. The Master found he was beginning not to mind the gesture so much, despite how condescending it was. "Brilliant," the Doctor said, ruffling the Master's hair. _That_ he did mind, and the Master scowled up at the Doctor as he went on. "That really is just brilliant. Look at us. Over 900 years we've known each other, and we're trying something new. A new adventure! Allons-y!" 

The Master glared as the Doctor made enthusiastic movements with his hands, jostling them both. Once he'd stopped, the Master settled back against him. He was a prisoner to his feelings more than he was ever a prisoner to the Doctor. He knew he could eventually escape the Doctor himself, but as for the contentment of curling up with the Doctor... The Master leaned into the Doctor's caress and didn't know if it were possible to escape it.

If he even wanted to.

~FIN~

**Author's Note:**

> Memory: One day I will get around to finishing out this series. That day will not be any time soon though, so I'll mark the series complete for now. It doesn't help every time I think about writing it, I think about the sex I'd have to write. Sigh. Still, maybe one day. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the sequel for what it's worth. I don't think it quite measures up to the original, but that's just me. Anyway, I think the Master has at least five of the seven causes in the quote of the fic. Chance is debatable and reason is right out, but the others, definitely. <3
> 
> Quote of the Fic:  
> "All human actions have one or more of these seven causes: chance, nature, compulsion, habit, reason, passion, and desire."  
> -Aristotle


End file.
